


Something More Upbeat

by ginwrites



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Depression, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pablo is trans, Rare Pairings, Rarepair, Recreational Drug Use, Some pining, he's definitely trans, not really relevant to the story but c'mon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-16 22:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11838771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginwrites/pseuds/ginwrites
Summary: The DJ Spinnmaster's life has never been glamorous. Some days it feels like he's barely holding on—until he meets a certain someone who brings a new tune to his life. That, and a whole lot of chaos. Just a couple of stoners being good for each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to rare pair hell, lads!

The first time Quinn registers the guy with the green hair properly it's at one of his gigs. "Gig" is a strong word for what he's doing, really; he's just putting on songs people can sing along to while they get horribly, sloppily drunk. He's seen Pablo around a couple of times, always surrounded by a popular crowd, but almost never by the same people, always laughing, always the life of the party. The kind of guy who makes his job easy. Quinn appreciates it, what with his wife moving out and dropping all contact unless she needs her credit card bills paid. It's an especially bad night, and watching couples younger than himself get it on on the dance floor is the last thing he can take in his current state, so he puts on "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails and let's Jesus take the wheel, leaning back against the wall. He even closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the confused and/or annoyed expressions of the party goers looking up at him.

It doesn't take long for someone to start insistently poking his arm. He inches open one eye and there's a toothy grin and a pair of bright eyes, not to mention a hell of a lot of green hair. The guy's wearing a crop top and he has a hand on his hip and almost immediately Quinn envies his confidence. He's practically oozing it as he slides a small USB drive into the DJ's hand and says something along the lines of "play something more upbeat next Friday" that Quinn can hardly make out as he's standing right between the two massive speakers. Despite that, when the next Friday rolls around he has the small USB drive in the back pocket of his cargo shorts, its contents still ringing in his ears. He's going to play it - not all of it, and not in the same order, or he might as well give up his job entirely - because he can't _not_ play it. That's how good the selection of tunes is. It's almost annoying. The people seem to agree, or at least their moves seem to say so, but Quinn can't stop his eyes from flickering to the door every couple minutes. He wants to at least get a reaction from Pablo if he's going to concede that some - he's not still a teenager, is he? - some younger guy has him beat when it comes to party tunes. Where is he?

It's past 1am when Pablo shows his face, and Quinn can immediately tell he's out of it when he comes in through the door, leaning on another guy and surrounded by other, drunker people. Great, so he's having a better time than him, too. Although that isn't exactly a feat, Quinn reminds himself bitterly as he adjusts the intensity of the bass before lining up the next song. The reaction Pablo gives him when he realises it's a song he chose is worth it all. It's off the charts the way his face lights up, even through the haze of alcohol and whatever other substances he's taken. He runs up to the DJ desk and tackles Quinn with a hug and even though they've never exchanged more than a sentence (and even though he's not much of a hugger himself), he manages to give Pablo a reasonable hug in return.

After that, Quinn's DJ nights aren't quite as miserable anymore. They exchange more USB drives, and quite a few hugs as well, even though they've still hardly had a conversation since the music's always blaring whenever they meet. Quinn finds out that the bouncer, the bartenders, and even the guy who works the cloakroom all have similar stories about Pablo, so he knows it's nothing special per se, but he doesn't mind. It still _feels_ special. Special enough that he starts putting on his own music occasionally, in between the mainstream bangers the crowd expects and the recommendations Pablo supplies him with. The DJ gig starts to feel less like a chore, less like yet another part time job he needs to pay his estranged wife's expenses with, and more like something he actually _enjoys_. And without fail he spots Pablo's face in the crowd, always surrounded by different people, always grinning from ear to ear whenever he catches Quinn's eye. Even he knows some of those people are bad news, but he'd never question it. By now he's asked around enough to know that Pablo is 21, and that he lives with his mother on the outskirts of town. He also knows that he has a one-man Witch House band called ✝✝V∆C∆NTVEIL✝✝ that has never once played a gig but has already made a hell of a lot of money selling t-shirts. Everything he finds out about Pablo endears him to Quinn more and more, although that sentiment is never without a small spark of jealousy in the back of his mind. As though this is the kind of guy he could have been if he hadn't gotten married right after college and thrown every opportunity that ever presented itself down the drain for Sandra. Deep down Quinn knows that he could never have been that kind of guy. Not like Pablo. He doesn't have the looks for it, or the charisma, or that certain... something that just magically makes people like him. Hell, he can't even get through a conversation with the pizza delivery girl without boring her to tears.

So Quinn continues on, trying not to worry when Pablo starts showing up to his "gigs" later and later, with more and more shady looking people. He really _does_ try - it's none of his business, after all - but when one night putting on a certain song doesn't produce the usual reaction, he knows there's something seriously wrong. Pablo's eyes are unfocused and bloodshot and he's just staring off into space, not paying the slightest bit of attention to the music even as he's dancing to it, several people in eccentric dress around him looking to be in a similar state. The last thing Quinn wants to do is put on the next song, and then the next, and not do anything about it, but he realises it's not really his place to meddle. He doesn't know this guy. Not really. The party winds down and as soon as he can the DJ makes his excuses and escapes out into the parking lot, cool night air hitting him in the face like a brick wall after the stuffy, vapour-heavy atmosphere of the club. It's October already and the nights are getting colder, he muses, eyes scanning the drunken stragglers, looking for... what is he really looking for? Then he sees it. A van he's seen around before, quite a few times, pumping tunes with the windows rolled down and occasionally the unmistakable smell of weed. A van he wouldn't recognise if he hadn't been paying way more attention than was normal. He pushes the thought aside decisively and crosses the parking lot. The back of the vehicle is open, and inside there's an old mattress, a heap of clothes and blankets and empty pizza boxes and on top of it all, spread out like a starfish is Pablo. Quinn almost has to laugh at the sight of him before he realises he's shaking.

  
"Hey! Hey, you okay?"

  
A hand on his shoulder should do it, right? It takes a few long, terrifying moments in which Quinn's mind jumps to the absolute worst possible scenarios before Pablo's eyes flutter open blearily.

  
"Thank G-... man! What happened to you?"

  
The older man asks breathlessly, but Pablo doesn't answer, at least not at first. He doesn't answer, or sit up, or do anything but stare upwards with a vacant expression on that annoyingly handsome face of his, until Quinn shakes both his shoulders rather roughly and he finally snaps out of it, jerking into an upright position.

  
"Fuck! Where're they?! Those fuckin'... _fuck!_ "

  
Quinn blinks at the many expletives that suddenly escape the man who moments earlier seemed dead to the world.

  
"Where's who?"

"That was so much money, oh my fuckin'... oh God."

  
Pablo runs his hands through his messy green hair, for all intents and purposes completely ignoring the dumbfounded DJ.

  
"Oh God, oh God, oh God..."

  
Then suddenly his eyes snap to Quinn's and he grabs his arm with a sudden intensity, so tight it almost hurts, like he doesn't know his own strength right now. His eyes really are bloodshot, Quinn can see it now, up close to him for the first time away from all the noise and the blinding strobe lights.

  
"You saw 'em, right?!" Pablo asks urgently, "The guys I was with! Two dudes and a girl. Dressed like they were goin' to a steampunk bar mitzvah or somethin'..."

  
It's like he loses energy halfway through the sentence and he slumps against Quinn like a puppet that just got its strings cut.

  
"I mean, yeah. I - I did see them. Don't think I could pick them out from a line up, if that's what you're asking..."

  
He isn't sure if he's making a joke or asking a genuine question because honestly? This is the craziest his life has been in a good long while and as far as he's concerned anything is possible right now. But Pablo doesn't answer, he just groans, leaning limply against him.

  
"Hey man, let me take you home."

  
Quinn offers, even though he maybe wouldn't have minded staying like this for a little bit longer. It's not something he's proud of, but there's no point in lying to himself.

  
"I can take you back to your mom's, yeah? How's that sound?"

  
He didn't mean it to come out like he's talking to a child, but he knows from the way Pablo's body immediately tenses up that he's said something wrong.

  
"S'fine. I got a place to stay."

  
The younger man slurs, though sitting up straight without Quinn's support still seems like a challenge.

  
"Where's that? I can drive you. Get your van back in the morning... or whenever you've slept this off, yeah?"

  
He's mentally scolding himself for every word. How is he managing to sound both like a boring adult _and_ a creepy stalker at the same time? That must be a new record, even for him. Pablo hesitates before responding.

  
"Right... here?"

  
"The van?"

  
Quinn doesn't bother hiding his surprise. The damage is probably done anyway, and besides, there are more pressing matters at hand.

  
"You're sleeping in this van?"

  
The man leaning against him nods meekly. He's never seen him like this, and it's disconcerting to say the least.

  
"For how long has that been... a thing?"

  
He hazards, but Pablo just shrugs.

  
"What about your mom?"

  
Quinn follows up, his hand resting lightly on Pablo's back now in what he hopes is coming off as the comforting gesture he intends it as.

  
"Not spoken to her in a - in a while."

  
It's obvious Pablo doesn't want to talk about it, and Quinn can't really blame him. He remembers what being 21 was like, and even though he was never in as much shit as Pablo seems to be in right now, he remembers all to well thinking that not even your parents are going to take you back after whatever unthinkable thing you just did. There's a very large part of Quinn that just wants to hug him, some kind of payback for all those fleeting hugs across the DJ table that improved his life in so many ways that Pablo will probably never know about, but he doesn't. Instead, he does the only other thing that comes to mind.

  
"Just stay at mine. I got room."

  
"Really?"

  
Suddenly Pablo sounds dubious, even through the drug-induced haze, like he doesn't want to be a burden. Quinn just waves it off with as much nonchalance as he can muster given the circumstances.

  
"Did I mention I got a really comfy couch with your name on it?"


	2. Chapter 2

They never explicitly discuss it, but Pablo ends up staying more than just a night. He sleeps on the couch for weeks before it finally dawns on Quinn that he's fully moved in, bags and bags of stuff in the living room, his van permanently parked out front of the apartment complex, some kind of flowery scented shampoo in the shower that he doesn't recognise. He's embarrassed at how much happier he is with the younger man around. Coming back home after a long day's work at one of his several jobs is much less depressing when instead of empty rooms he's greeted by deafening Witch House pumping through his speakers. Even when he comes home to billowing smoke filling the kitchen he can't find it in himself to be mad at Pablo. The burnt mac'n'cheese is a nice gesture, even if he _is_ lactose intolerant and he ends up having to order Chinese food for the both of them. When Sandra calls him up for one reason or another, it doesn't sting quite as much when he isn't surrounded by the yawning emptiness of the apartment they used to share. He realises it used to be _him_ calling _her_ , leaving clingy voicemails begging her to call back. He hasn't felt the urge to do that in months. Not to mention Pablo is great company, probably the greatest. He has this knack for turning every dreary, self-deprecating thing Quinn throws at him into something positive; it would almost be annoying if it wasn't so damn nice.

And maybe he's kidding himself, but he thinks Pablo's doing better as well, not going out nearly as much, and when he does the people don't seem as shady (although he can't convince Quinn to come with them even at the best of times). They never speak about that first night he offered him his couch, but there's an unspoken agreement between them. They don't keep a tally of who did what or who saved whose ass or who owes whom a favour, they just do their thing. Quinn wouldn't have it any other way.

Pouring over some tax paperwork he can hear Pablo singing in the shower and he can't help but smile. Suddenly he feels so fucking lucky, like his life's finally turned around for the better after so much shit. He only wishes he had the balls to tell Pablo what a difference he's made, but that's impossible. He's still Quinn, and no amount of good days in a row is going to magically make him confident enough for something like that. And besides, he's far too worried that'd mess things up. Things are good the way they are; he doesn't want to ruin that. Pablo might misunderstand what he's trying to say. That would be awkward. Because, hey, he definitely just wants to tell him what a great friend he is. Moments later the man in question is out of the shower, leaning in the frame of the bathroom door with wet hair and one of Quinn's towels tied loosely around his waist. There's _definitely_ a trail leading down from his belly button and Quinn _definitely_ isn't looking at it. No, he has his eyes fixed firmly on the paperwork in front of him.

  
"Wanna come out with us tonight?"

  
Pablo asks, like he always does, even though the older man declines without fail, every single time. He appreciates that he still asks, though. He has a feeling he's never going to stop, and something about that makes him feel pleased. A sense of consistency Quinn isn't used to from other people.

  
"Not today, I got all this... stuff to do. Thanks, though." He grimaces, gesturing at the papers strewn haphazardly across the coffee table. "I hope you have fun!"

  
Pablo quirks an eyebrow and saunters over to him, leaning over his shoulder to get a closer look at what's supposedly keeping his friend from coming out with him.

  
"Psshhh. Taxes? Lame!"

  
There's water dripping onto the shoulder of Quinn's t-shirt and he can smell that heady, flowery shampoo that's almost definitely marketed towards women and _oh God_ , he's really close to him.

  
"Yeah, super lame."

  
He manages, staring straight ahead with intense concentration. From the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of Pablo's toothy grin.

  
"C'mon, man. It'll be fun! Nothin' crazy, I promise. Just a couple a drinks, some jams. I got some weed~"

  
He finishes up his pitch in a singsong voice, clearly hoping that mention of drugs will sweeten the deal somehow when in reality the fact he's trying so hard is what finally makes Quinn cave. That and the fucking shampoo.

  
"Fine!" He slams both hands down onto the table, more like he's readying himself for battle than a night out. "Fine. Yeah. I could use a distraction to be honest."

  
The reaction he gets is worth it tenfold. Pablo full on cheers, his grin is so wide and warm, and the fact that it's all down to Quinn deciding to come with him makes his stomach do a funny, uncomfortable twisty thing. He's going to need quite a bit of booze to get through this in one piece, he muses recklessly as he makes his way to the bathroom to spritz on some aftershave (it's been a while since he last went out - is that what people do?), but it might just be worth the panic if he gets to be the reason for that grin a couple more times. When he resurfaces Pablo is miraculously ready, dressed in another one of those damn crop tops and a jeans jacket Quinn lent him. He can't fit into it himself any more, which he was pretty gutted about until he saw how well it suits Pablo. He's made his peace with that jacket, just like he's made peace with the way that Pablo insists on walking everywhere unless it's absolutely necessary to take a car. Quinn can't fault him for it - after all, there's going to be drinking involved and he knows for a fact that the younger man has driven while intoxicated on several occasions, producing some hair-raising stories he's since been told over morning coffee.

On the way they run into Mat, who's in the middle of locking up the café, and they exchange a few words. Quinn feels like Mat likes him a lot more since Pablo started living with him, for whatever reason, and he isn't going to complain because that friendship comes with the perk of the occasional free Macchiato DeMarco on his way to work. Maybe Mat would be the right guy to ask about the whole thing with Pablo's mother, it occurs to him, before he remembers his unspoken vow not to poke his nose into his friend's private affairs. He's a talkative guy; chances are if he wanted Quinn to know about any of it, he would have brought it up by now. That puts a little dampener on things for a couple of blocks - Quinn's nothing if not greatly skilled at making himself feel bad - but soon the unmistakable sound of dirty bass, mingled with laughing voices, reaches their ears and Pablo's consistent chatter grows more excited. It's not long at all before Pablo's friends catch up with them. Everyone seems nice enough, though they definitely keep Quinn at arm's length. He's not part of the crew just yet, and he doesn't mind in the slightest. He's not even sure he _wants_ to be part of the crew, he's just here for his friend after all. Maybe that's blatantly obvious to everyone but Pablo, maybe not. What he described as "nothing crazy" turns out to be, on the Quinn scale, pretty fucking crazy. The party is huge, and it's not at a bar or club, it's a house party. The host doesn't know any of them, but the fridge is stocked to the brim with all kinds of booze, and there's people spilling out onto the lawn and other people making out on the balcony and _Jesus_ , is that someone on the roof?

It's all Quinn can manage to grab himself a beer and wander after Pablo, trying not to seem too clingy but simultaneously desperately afraid of getting lost in a crowd of drunken strangers. He feels himself transported back to college, except back then he at least had a reason for being there. Now he's a 32 year old married man and he feels like it's written all over his face, like every attractive young person at this party can see him for what he is. It's painfully obvious how little he fits in, and it's even _more_ painfully obvious how well Pablo does. He navigates through the crowd with such ease, it's almost graceful, dancing from one group of party goers to the next like it's nothing, like _he's_ the host. Being the centre of attention doesn't bother him, while Quinn can barely even handle a lone drunk girl asking him for directions to the toilet. It's like there's a literal spotlight on Pablo, and he's fucking sparkling, that easy smile never far from his lips, laughing with everyone like they're old friends even though he doesn't even know their names. Suddenly Quinn's reminded of their first meeting, but instead of the warm, nostalgic feeling he usually gets whenever he dwells on that memory (which is more often than he'd care to admit) he feels himself transported back to that night. He was feeling awful that night, absolutely horrendous. Something with Sandra that he doesn't care to remember now, but he vividly remembers watching the people on the dance floor having fun and thinking that even though _he's_ the one giving them the music, supplying them with the beat they need in order to enjoy themselves that much, he's never going to be part of it. That's exactly how he feels now, and he hates himself for it. He wants to have fun, like Pablo is. He wants to have fun _with_ Pablo. Fuck, he wants to walk right up to him and just grab him by the lapels of his jeans jacket and-

  
He needs to get out of there.

He needs to get out of there before anyone picks up on his stupid bitterness, his jealousy, his... whatever else he has going on. Suddenly it's all so much, he can't even sort through it. He just needs to get out. So that's exactly what he does. Leaving his half empty can of beer on the kitchen counter and completely ignoring two of Pablo's friends he rushes out the front door. He has to dodge past a couple of smokers outside and then he's speed-walking down the street at a pace he didn't realise he could manage sober let alone like this. A few blocks from the house party he leans against a cool wall and groans. _Stupid._ He shouldn't have gone out in the first place, should've known he'd just end up ruining everything. Maybe Pablo's too busy with all those other people to even notice he's gone. Maybe he can just get up tomorrow morning and act like nothing happened, like he had a reasonably fun night and went home a couple hours later. Like he's just a boring old guy and not an asshole who can't stand seeing people have fun for some reason.


	3. Chapter 3

Even from two blocks away Quinn can still hear the bass-heavy music, or maybe it's just his blood thumping in his ears. He's so busy trying to tell the difference that he doesn't register the approaching footsteps and suddenly he's there, _Pablo's_ there, and he's got a hand on each of his shoulders and the most concerned expression on his face that makes Quinn's stomach tie itself into countless knots.  
  
"Where'd you go, man? Ev'rythin' alright?"  
  
He asks and Quinn wishes he only had the presence of mind to make something up. Anything other than the truth.  
  
"Uh, yeah. I'm all good."  
  
Is all he manages, lamely. It's not lost on Pablo, who raises an eyebrow dubiously.  
  
"Ya don't _look_ good."  
  
"Psh, thanks."  
  
A weak attempt at humour, but Pablo laughs anyway. Even now he's being too nice, way nicer than Quinn feels like he deserves.  
  
"You look kinda... queasy, man. Needed some fresh air, huh?"  
  
He suggests, the corners of his mouth still quirking up a little as he speaks. He's throwing him a lifeline, Quinn realises, and he clings onto it like a drowning man.  
  
"Yeah! Yeah. I guess I do feel pretty nauseous."  
  
A few quick nods. Is he really going to let him get away with it, just like that?  
  
" _Man._ Maybe you should go home."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Quinn knows his response is too immediate, like a bullet from a gun or something, but he doesn't care. After everything it feels like a bit of a letdown that Pablo isn't trying to convince him to stay, but he tells himself to be thankful. He _wants_ to go home. There's nothing on this Earth he wants more than that right now, and Pablo is offering him the perfect window. Like he knows exactly what's going through his mind.  
  
"Maybe I'll come with ya."  
  
That leaves the older man completely gobsmacked. He must be joking. There's no way he can mean that. But Pablo carries on, when he can tell there's not about to be any kind of response on Quinn's part.  
  
"Yeah, the party's kinda lame anyways."  
  
"Wha-?" He manages to find his voice just enough to make a noise of protest. "You - you looked like you were having fun in there! Don't let me ruin y-"  
  
"Shut up, Quinn."  
  
And Quinn shuts up. Quinn shuts up because Pablo's finger is on his lips and he's grinning that toothy grin of his and for the second time today they're so close together he could practically count his eyelashes if he wanted to. Before he knows it they're on their way home, neither of them more than tipsy, but Pablo is as cheerful as can be. Quinn can't help but think he's exaggerating, to prove to him that his night hasn't been ruined by his flatmate's stupid resentfulness, but his heart does feel lighter now that he's not making his way home alone. The younger of the two stops at every lamppost to swing around it like he's in some kind of musical, and when Quinn tells him that that's what he looks like he even starts singing. The only musical he knows is apparently _West Side Story_ , and the only song he knows is 'I Feel Pretty', so that's what the hapless inhabitants of Maple Bay get to hear just after midnight, bellowed about an octave lower than originally composed. By the time they reach the apartment Quinn hasn't forgotten about the whole thing, not quite, but all those awful feelings are buried under so much fondness for his friend he can hardly summon up the energy to dwell on them.  
  
Once inside, Pablo suddenly grins, holding up a single finger like a mad scientist on the brink of discovery.  
  
"I still got that weed!"  
  
He announces, not waiting for any kind of approval to fumble the small package out from the back pocket of his low-waisted baggy pants.

With the ups and downs he's already been through that night, Quinn just shrugs and goes to get his bong. Pablo prepares everything with the practiced ease of a professional and in no time at all the air around them is heavy and hazy and Quinn can finally feel himself relax as he exhales. He's not a regular stoner anymore, nothing like his college days. Sandra more or less made him quit, but since Pablo moved in he's gotten high more often. It disables some of the anxious overthinking his mind is prone to, not to mention it helps him get to sleep. That night it feels different though, like it means something. Their conversation isn't particularly deep, but every word seems weighted, purposefully chosen.

After a while Pablo leans against him, exhaling the last hit slowly and deliberately in Quinn's direction. He coughs a little and laughs, nudging him with his elbow, and suddenly Pablo loops his own arm through Quinn's. His eyes are still fixed on him, twinkling, causing Quinn's stomach to flutter. From experience he knows that Pablo often gets affectionate while high, but today he feels so sleepy and warm and comfortable he doesn't freeze up awkwardly as he usually does. Instead he rests his head atop Pablo's gently, a soft sigh escaping him. This is something he could get used to, he thinks blearily, on the verge of dozing off, when-

"You asleep?"

"...No. Not quite."

"You wanna hear somethin' funny?"

"Mh-hm."

Quinn's response is slow and tired.

"My friend asked me if we were dating."

For once he's thankful of the delayed reaction weed brings because he knows that in a sober state this kind of bombshell would have him spluttering like nobody's business. Even so he's blushing deeply, glad that Pablo isn't looking. Moments later he curses his own train of thought for jinxing him because Pablo lifts his head up from his shoulder to look directly at him. He can smell the alcohol and the weed and under all that there's that fucking floral shampoo.

"...Oh."

"Funny, right?"

Despite his words, Pablo doesn't seem to be grinning, but his weed-addled mind can't make sense of his expression. Quizzical? Mocking? Curious?

"...Yeah. Funny."

Is all he manages to get out, his voice closer to a croak than what normal, human speech is supposed to sound like.

"Not like... funny 'ha ha'. More like, ya know... jus' funny."

Pablo's words are slurred; he's clearly more drunk than he realised, and the weed certainly isn't helping. He's so close now there's nothing Quinn can do that to stop his eyelids from fluttering, stop his gaze from dropping to his flatmate's mouth, back up to his unfocused eyes, then back to his mouth again.

Neither of them has to initiate it in the end. From one moment to the next suddenly they're kissing and Quinn's worried his heart might jump right out of his chest at how soft Pablo's lips are, at how good they feel against his own. It's entirely different than he imagined it would be. Not that he's ever imagined it. But if he _had_ , purely hypothetically speaking, imagined it, it wouldn't have been anything like this. Pablo's kiss is so passionate and simultaneously so gentle Quinn feels himself coming apart right there on the couch. A quiet, breathless moan escapes him, which causes Pablo to grin against his mouth and suddenly that toothy grin he's seen so many times does entirely new things to him. Quinn's hands find their way around his waist somehow - he's still wearing that old jeans jacket of his - and just sort of rest there, nervous and unsure of what to do. Predictably, Pablo's hands don't share their shyness. They roam up Quinn's chest, anchoring themselves firmly in the material of his shirt just beneath his collar.

The kiss feels like it lasts forever and simultaneously no time at all, and when Pablo finally breaks away, allowing both of them to catch their breath, Quinn is instantly uncertain it even happened. It's too crazy. It's just not the kind of thing that happens to someone like him. But that expression on Pablo's face says otherwise, the way he looks at him with new eyes almost, as though he's more surprised than Quinn is, if that's even possible. For once even _he_ seems dumbstruck, no cocky line on his lips. His lips-

This time Quinn lunges forward to unite their mouths and it's as though Pablo is almost taken aback, but he melts into the kiss all the same, pressing his body against Quinn's like there's nowhere he'd rather be. The older man feels light-headed and he has a feeling it's not just the weed. Everything feels surreal, like he's floating; the only things anchoring him to the coach are Pablo's hands, still twisted into his shirt collar, and his lips, burning like fire even as the fervency of their kiss fades and they're left leaning their foreheads against one another. Quinn can't remember ever experiencing this kind of intensity in his life, and with his heart beating this fast he's absolutely flummoxed when he realises that Pablo, whose head dropped back down onto his shoulder moments ago, is now peacefully dozing off. He wants to look at him properly, drink in the sight of the man he probably just shared the most impactful 15 minutes of his life with, but he's too afraid to move his head lest he wake him up. So he just sits there, blinking at the untidy flat they still find themselves in, unable to arrange his feelings into coherent thoughts of any kind, and eventually even he manages to drift off to sleep somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we've finally reached the cheesy bit I wanna thank @QuizmasterQuinn on Twitter who is kinda the reason I ship these two dorks so much. Thanks for coming up with so many amazing headcanons, and thanks for being the Quinn to my Pablo. THAT'S ALL, BYE.


	4. Chapter 4

It's surprisingly early when Quinn opens his eyes, bleary from the late night and the weed. He rubs them, yawning at the bright grey light filtering in through the gap in the curtains, until the memory of the previous night hits him in the stomach like an oncoming train. First there's a feeling of being caught doing something he shouldn't, not just because he's technically still married on paper, but because he's pretty sure Pablo must have been able to tell how much he's been wanting this, and for how long. Next there's a feeling of euphoria as the full implications dawn on him. Maybe this won't be the last time he gets to do that, his mind cheers even as he tries to remember not to get ahead of himself. Even if it's just a one time thing, it was a damn good one time.

After that, he backtracks slightly. Nerves start to surface, as they always do. Where _is_ Pablo anyway? His unease only grows as he peeks into each room in turn, even the bathroom. He's not in the flat. He must have left to... this isn't like him. Even on days he has a shift at the Coffee Spoon it's rare for him to leave before noon, early mornings not exactly being his strong suit. And he doesn't even have his shift today; Quinn knows this because he knows his schedule a little better than he'd care to admit.

Maybe he's gone out to get coffee and donuts, like they do in the movies. Yeah, that'll be it. Quinn tries desperately to put his mind at ease with that thought as he paces back and forth through the apartment. It's like that trope where a girl wakes up the morning after and thinks her one night stand left without saying anything but then he pops back in with coffee and donuts and maybe even a bouquet of flowers and-

He's going crazy. It's not like they even _slept_ together, all they did was make out and cuddle. Quinn feels dizzy - not the good kind from last night, but disoriented. Without changing his clothes he leaves his flat and sure enough Pablo's van is gone. Pablo, who always pesters him to walk everywhere unless absolutely necessary, has taken his van.

Stumbling back inside and slamming the door to the apartment complex shut behind him, Quinn tries to come up with a reason - _any_ reason - he might do that, but he draws a blank. He's shaking now, and he hates himself for it. Anything would be better than having the sanctity of last night ruined. He wracks his brains: What could he have done wrong? Did he cross a line he isn't aware of? Did he make him uncomfortable? If so, why didn't he say anything in the moment? Pablo isn't exactly the type to mince his words or spare people's feelings. He's honest to the core, sometimes painfully so. Quinn almost trips as he drags his feet back up to his flat. He takes a shower and cries a little bit, but he tries to hold back just in case Pablo suddenly comes back and hears him sobbing through the bathroom door.

Even after the shower he just paces around the apartment listening intently for any sounds from the hallway, hoping against hope that Pablo will prove his worst expectations wrong. No such luck. It's around four in the afternoon when he realises he can't take it anymore. He gets in his car and starts driving around town with no real goal, eyes staring blankly, scanning the pavements, the shops, even the bay area where he knows Pablo would rarely venture. Only when it starts to get dark does he realise he hasn't eaten, so he buys cheap chicken nuggets and drags himself back to the flat. It feels so yawningly empty without Pablo there he doesn't manage to get more than a few bites down before he lets the food go cold. His only other coping mechanism is watching mindless TV into the early hours of the morning, so that's exactly what he does. Quinn stares at the screen until his eyes feel dried out and his chest feels numb instead of painful and eventually he falls asleep, some part of his brain knowing he'll repeat the cycle the next day.

It turns from a day into a week, although Quinn probably loses track before then. He's been here before. Depression isn't new territory for him, but that doesn't make it any less painful. Not least because it was Pablo who made such a huge positive impact on his mental health in the first place. He even calls him up a few times even though he knows better than anyone that Pablo never checks his phone. Or pays his phone bills. Or carries a charger.

Even as he flits between his three and a half jobs he can't stop replaying the events of that night over and over again in his head. Usually Quinn wouldn't doubt for a second that someone might be put off after kissing him and never contact him again, but Pablo was different. It _felt_ different. Quinn actually let himself believe that and now he feels like an idiot. Despite that he keeps up his aimless tours of Maple Bay every other day, always on the lookout for that rundown old van or that telltale green head of hair - to no avail.

It takes several attempts for him to summon up the courage to enter the Coffee Spoon, because throughout all of this searching a part of him is petrified of actually _finding_ Pablo. If he finds him he'll have to talk to him, and even though he's rehearsed the conversation about a million times in his head he still isn’t sure of what to say. Or if Pablo will even want to talk to him.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he enters the café and Pablo isn't slouching behind the counter, though it's immediately followed by more concern. Mat greets him in his usual friendly manner that Quinn has a hard time reading, so once he has his lactofree Macchiato DeMarco clutched firmly in his slightly sweaty hand he caves and outright asks him.

When Mat isn't any wiser, that's when Quinn starts _really_ worrying. Not that he wasn't already losing sleep, appetite, and overall quality of life over it, but this adds another layer entirely. It means it's not just about him. If Pablo hasn't even told _Mat_ where he is, that means he's in serious trouble.

With his capacity for worry kicked into overdrive, he decides to do something he never usually would. That night, his usual Friday evening DJ gig, he approaches a couple he vaguely recognises from having seen them around Pablo. Not recently, but in those early days when the two of them hadn't exchanged more than a few words but Pablo was already changing his entire outlook on life with every damn USB drive he presented him with. The two women are definitely off their faces and obviously annoyed by Quinn approaching them, but this seems to at least make them eager to get the conversation over with more quickly.

They exchange glances before one of them speaks.

“I figure you're either some kinda crazy stalker and Pabs'll tell you where to stick it, or you'll make up and make out, right?”

Quinn swallows dryly and nods. It's probably going to be one or the other, but the way she cuts straight to the point makes it more real. These are exactly the kind of people who make him immeasurably nervous - open and straight to the point like Pablo, but with none of his warmth. None of his gentleness.

“He's been camping out up on Maple Ridge. In his van. Place used to be pretty popular for raves but it's kinda deserted these days. Fuckin’ cold, too.”

She shudders for emphasis and her partner puts her arms around her. The comforting gesture makes Quinn's stomach feel funny, so he thanks them and leaves them to it, thoughts spiralling as he walks away. So he's back to living in his van. That was to be expected, wasn't it? Part of him had hoped he'd made up with his mother, but maybe that isn't an option. Quinn's worried, _extremely_ worried, but now he knows where to go.


	5. Chapter 5

Maple Ridge is easy enough to get to with the help of Google Maps. Quinn vaguely remembers going on a school trip there one summer that culminated in one of his classmates pissing his pants - a high point, because it meant that for once  _ he _ wasn't the one being picked on the most. That was during the Summer though, and with the trees losing their foliage the drive up is a lot less picturesque. He's thankful for his car's heating and can't imagine what Pablo must be going through, freezing his ass off up there every night. Even if it ends up in outright rejection - the most likely outcome according to Quinn - he needs to know what possessed him.

Sure enough the familiar rundown van soon comes into view, causing his heartbeat to speed up about ten times by the feel of it. He almost chickens out right then and there, but he figures Pablo's probably heard the car by now, so it'd almost be more awkward if he left at this point. That's what gets him out of the car, fiddling nervously with the zipper of his hoodie as he approaches the van. As there doesn't seem to be anyone in the front, he knocks on the back of the vehicle. It takes ages for him to open up, so long that Quinn almost changes his mind and leaves, but when he finally does Pablo looks genuinely stunned to see him.

“Woah. Hi.”

“Hi.”

Quinn's voice doesn't sound like his own, and he really wishes he had something to hold on to right now because  _ fuck _ , he has no idea how to do this. Usually it's Pablo leading their conversations but he's not being forthcoming at all. In fact, he looks like shit. Dark circles under his eyes, beard stubble even more uneven than usual, and his hair looks unwashed. Not to mention the chaos that's barely visible behind him, inside the van.

“So. I was wondering where you've been.”

Is all he manages to get out. Not a question, but he really needs an answer. For more than a week now he's been agonising over this and yet all the questions he's rehearsed are suddenly gone in a puff of smoke.

“Right here, man. Been up here. At work. Ya know, the usual.”

Pablo's voice sounds flat, without a hint of its usual expressive intonation. It sounds all wrong.

“Oh.”

Just like that, Quinn's lost for words. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. It's not that he's being cold per se, but he's not being  _ Pablo _ . He's acting like nothing ever happened when it's so clearly written all over his face that something's seriously wrong. Not just like that fateful night never happened, but everything leading up to it, like their  _ friendship _ never happened. Like they're strangers.

And suddenly Quinn can't take it anymore.

“Why did you go?! I don't get it! I thought we- you- I get it if you didn't wanna- you could have just  _ said _ something! You just disappeared! I was so worried! I'm  _ still _ worried! What's- what's going on with you?! I just- I don't-”

And now he's shaking and he can't articulate anything else because he can feel tears pricking at his eyes. He tries to bite them back, clenches his fists as his sides, but it's no use. The worst thing about it is the way Pablo just takes it. His eyes are wide and horrified, but he doesn't snap at him, or call him out for being crazy and obsessive or just plain bad at finishing sentences. It looks like he genuinely didn't see this coming. When he finally speaks his voice is uncharacteristically quiet.

“I'm sorry.”

Then Quinn's crying for real, mortified at himself but unable to keep the tears from spilling, and suddenly Pablo lunges forward and grabs him, wrapping both arms around him and pulling him close so that Quinn's face is squished against his chest.

“I'm so sorry. I'm so fuckin' sorry.”

His sense of embarrassment slowly starts to fade the moment Pablo's warmth envelopes him. Quinn clings to the front of his shirt and sobs into it with reckless abandon while Pablo keeps talking, words spilling out of him now with nothing to hold them back.

“I shouldn't’ve done that, I should've said. I should've been honest with you. You mean so fuckin’ much to me, man. I jus’… I shouldn't've kissed you. That was fucked up. I'm sorry.”

Quinn's stomach drops and he pulls away a little so he can look up at the taller man's face. He looks stricken, apologetic, conflicted. Like he's still not sure where he's at, which happens to mirror Quinn's feelings exactly.

“That- what? No. I mean it was pretty… unexpected. But…”

To add to the tears streaming down it, Quinn's face has now probably gone an unhealthy red colour. If he knew where they stood he'd tell Pablo how much he enjoyed their kiss. How much it meant to him. How brutally painful it is to realise that he's probably the only one between the two of them to feel that way. Thankfully, Pablo's being a bit more forthcoming with explanations now.

“Didn't see it comin’ either. But that's a line I shouldn't've crossed, man. S’kinda my whole thing. I don't ever wanna be a homewrecker.”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . Quinn immediately feels stupid for not clocking that right off the bat. He doesn't know that much about Pablo's family situation but from the way he says that, solemnly, like he took an oath or something, makes him pretty sure that's what this is about. If he's not on speaking terms with his mother he's not even on  _ mentioning _ terms with his father.

“I know family stuff isn't something you like to talk about.” He finally replies, “You don't have to.”

“Okay, you're bein’ creepily perceptive. I don't like it.”

Pablo laughs softly and suddenly it's like all the pent up stress from over a week of worrying falls off him, just like that. No matter how things pan out, he gets to hear that laugh again. That's all Quinn cares about right now.

“But yeah, ya hit the nail on the head pretty much. No one wants to grow up’n be like their parents, right?”

He shudders a little to illustrate his point and Quinn takes the opportunity to wipe his face on the sleeve of his own hoodie.

“God, no.”

He quickly agrees, while Pablo opens up the back of the van properly and sits down on the edge. There's a mattress and several blankets messily laid out. He pats the spot next to him to indicate for Quinn to sit down. Of course he does so straight away, but there's something he feels like he needs to get off his chest before the conversation moves on.

“You wouldn't've been a homewrecker, you know. It's not like there's much of a home left to wreck, ha.”

His usual self-deprecating humour's there, but at this point there's no way of backing out, so he barges on.

“And I know all that is just technical stuff, but since you moved in I've been feeling a bit better about the idea of actually going through with it. The divorce I mean.”

Quinn's words hang in the air, and after several long moments of silence he starts to get worried Pablo isn't going to say anything at all. Then:

“...Oh. Woah.”

He quickly sneaks a glance over at the younger man, to garner something - anything - from his expression, but he just seems enraptured with the view in front of them. All of Maple Bay laid out at their feet beneath the Ridge, just pinpricks of light no different from the stars above. Everything suddenly very insignificant, and the only thing that matters is what's right there. The two of them, sat there in the cold in the back of a van.

“Yeah. Woah.”

It's like his words break some sort of spell that was put on Pablo, and he turns to look at him. Stars are reflected in his eyes and Quinn has to swallow because his stomach is doing that funny twisty thing again. Pablo leans a little closer, and he's smiling.

“So you're tellin’ me you're a free man, huh?”

He asks, smile turning into an almost goofy grin. Quinn tries to keep his cool, he really does, be he can't keep his eyes off Pablo's lips.

“Yeah. Free as a bird.”

Usually he'd agonise about saying something as dorky as that, but given the circumstances Quinn brushes it off with surprising ease. Especially since Pablo's next words kind of blow his mind.

“Then just fuckin’ kiss me already.”


	6. Chapter 6

Of course he kisses him. There’s nothing Quinn has ever wanted to do quite as much. Maybe it’s a bit hasty and rushed, or maybe it’s exactly right; he just wants to feel those unbelievably soft lips against his own again. Pablo leans into it and puts an arm around him and soon neither of them really cares about the cold anymore. It’s like nothing is real apart from the two of them.

This time Quinn doesn’t worry when they come up for air. He knows the kiss really happened because his chest feels like it’s on fire, but in a good way. Pablo leans his forehead against his and smiles as he catches his breath.

“Man. I dunno what I was thinkin’.”

Quinn's confused and maybe a little dazed from the kiss, so it takes him a few moments to respond.

“What d’you mean?”

“Like, how'd I think I was gonna stay away from you? I’m dumb as hell.”

“Wha-...”

It's too much for Quinn to wrap his brain around. The idea that Pablo might be trying to compliment him is too farfetched, and the fact that the very same Pablo is now visibly blushing right in front of him is literally too much to compute.

“You're like the best person I've ever met, dude.”

The older man opens his mouth to say something, maybe even to argue against it, but the words stick in his throat because of how easily, how simply Pablo says these things. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He puts his finger on his lips again, like that night it all happened.

“Just shut up’n take the compliment, yeah? I mean it.”

Now his expression is serious for once, like he's really trying to get his point across, and it makes Quinn's stomach flip for what feels like the hundredth time during their short conversation. It doesn't seem possible that he might have had just as big an impact on Pablo's life as he’s had vice versa, but again he has to remind himself that lying isn't exactly his strong suit. The prospect seems ludicrous and simultaneously the best thing Quinn can imagine. That after all the awful shit he's been through he still has the capacity to make someone else's life better in some small way.

And then he's distracted, because Pablo's replaced the finger on his lips with his mouth. Not a long, deep kiss this time, but a short one - not that much more than a peck, really - that holds the promise of many more to come. Then he leans his head on Quinn's shoulder and they both go back to looking out over the Maple Bay vista. It’s not as beautiful now, with a light fall fog rising and obscuring the pinpricks of light and dulling the stars above, but neither of them really needs their breath taken away.

After a while they close the back doors of the van because it really is getting cold the later it gets. They could drive back to Quinn's but instead they end up just crawling under several of the many blankets together. Pablo makes a very good big spoon, making Quinn feel safe and warm curled up against him. Eventually he rolls over to face him and Pablo just smiles without saying anything at all. It’s the same kind of companionship they shared when they were just living together platonically, like there’s nothing Quinn could ever do or say that would put Pablo off or turn him against him in any way. Like there’s someone irrevocably on his side. It's not really something he's used to. After everything he's been through it takes a lot for Quinn to feel that sure about someone, and as nice as it is to have those things in the air between them unspoken, he really wants to put them into words.

“I think you-...”

He gulps. Oh boy. He's committed to saying something now. It's definitely too late to back out with Pablo looking at him like that, with those big eyes and a quizzical expression.

“I think you know you're the best person  _ I've _ ever met. Right?”

Pablo just goes “psshhh” but he's smiling. Always a sucker for compliments. Quinn knows that all too well because it constantly makes him wish he was better at giving them.

“The past couple years have been… they've been really rough, y'know? Having you in the flat really-... well, not just that. Ugh, sorry.”

He furrows his brow, trying to find the right words, and even though Pablo's expression has now shifted into a slightly bemused one, he doesn't say anything. He just waits patiently for Quinn to arrange his thoughts into something more coherent.

“Having you living with me, having you as my friend, has been… it's really helped. I know you've got your own shit to deal with, and I don't want to bug you, or- or make you feel uncomfortable or anything. But I'd really like it if you moved back in.”

Now that it's out there he's actually relieved, and when he sees Pablo's grin the rest of his doubts fully dissipate.

After Pablo accepts - graciously, but not modestly - their conversation loses some of its seriousness. Every so often Quinn loses focus just from the intense closeness, and every so often Pablo's gentle fingertips tracing absent-minded patterns along his arm bring him back. Despite that it's not long before both of them are asleep, though the bright morning sunlight wakes them far earlier than either of them would usually start their day. Pablo clambers over the seats and starts the engine and Quinn is reluctant to return to his own car, as though as soon as he gets out of the van his friend might disappear again.

But the sun is reflecting off the Bay, sharp and bright, and there's a crisp breeze whipping up around them that makes Quinn roll his windows down as they hightail it back into town. He even turns on the radio, and it's some new song that's probably in the charts, and he doesn't know it and he can't hum along, but he doesn't care in the slightest.

The flat is a mess, and for a moment he feels self-conscious of how he let himself go to pieces in Pablo's absence, but the man in question clearly couldn't care less. Considering the state of his van he doesn't really have a leg to stand on anyway. They share bacon and eggs and Quinn can't stop grinning all the while he's standing at the stove until Pablo comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his middle which doesn't help with the cooking but speeds up his heart rate in a way that almost seems unhealthy.

It's like nothing ever happened, and that horrible week of missing him was just a bad dream - but at the same time, their dynamic has irrevocably changed. Pablo acts like there's nothing to it, nothing to the sudden physical shows of affection that are sprinkled into their conversation, nothing to the strange yet comfortable intimacy that seems to have sprung up between them. For once even Quinn can't bring himself to agonise over it because the weight in his chest has lifted more than it has done in years.

The day flies by and when it starts getting dark outside Pablo fixes Quinn with another one of his wonky grins and quips something along the lines of “getting an upgrade”. His nights of sleeping on the couch are over; instead they curl up together in Quinn's bed and something about it feels oddly meaningful. Maybe because it's been so long since he's shared that bed with anyone. For a brief moment he remembers nights spent with Sandra in this same bed, but those memories are fuzzy, blurred around the edges, maybe purposefully pushed aside and diluted. He doesn't have the capacity for resentment right now. All he can feel is the warmth resonating from Pablo's body.

He still can't quite fathom how he ended up here, how he got this lucky. When he makes an effort to think back to their first meeting, he barely recognises himself. It's jarring, almost, but not in a painful way. He knows he's not “fixed”, and he knows that Pablo himself has a lot of demons he probably has yet to face, but for the moment none of that feels relevant. Quinn finds himself baffled and speechless. The only thing he can think to do is to take Pablo's hand in his and press a kiss onto his palm. In the darkened room he can just about make out Pablo's smile. A smile that tells him it's all going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and bearing with me. Rarepairs are always hard, but I really care about these two good good boys. Hopefully this won't be the last fic I write about them :3c


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